


Wanna Be Sedated

by mdtwn



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-19
Updated: 2015-10-19
Packaged: 2018-04-27 02:21:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5029963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mdtwn/pseuds/mdtwn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>things you said at 1 am</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wanna Be Sedated

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this zouis drabble back in February 2015. Warning for very blatant talk of depression, mentions of drug use, and (very) brief allusions to suicide/self harm.

Louis shifted on the couch of the tour bus for the umpteenth time, cringing upon hearing his phone slide off of the leather and go tumbling to the floor. He sighed, turning away from it again and accidentally, forcefully nudging Zayn with his foot in the process. Though he knew that he’d done far worse to Zayn in the past, but he still glanced up past where his hood had fallen in front of his eyes and Zayn was seemingly unfazed, still steadily pecking away at his laptop. Part of him that wished Zayn would exit out of whatever seemingly important email he was writing and help to distract Louis, but he’d never ask.

 

Louis hated this, the lull after a post-show high where all of the pleasant chemicals in his brain would fuck off and leave him with ringing ears and this weird lingering fear of being under-stimulated. Normally he’d substitute one high for another, but he was too apathetic to get up and wander back to the bunks to ask one of their security guys for something. He had promised himself that he wouldn’t, anyway, lest he wanted to repeat the hangover that resulted from near death when he’d mixed too much valium with too much whisky on the ridiculously long flight out to Australia.

 

He was stuck in this meddling place where everything was simultaneously too much and not enough. He knew that Zayn understood and he knew that Zayn had to coax it out of him, that he wasn’t good at articulating whatever this feeling was, but he still felt guilty that Zayn was the one who had to deal with it. Louis couldn’t read the expression illuminated by the glow of Zayn’s laptop, but Zayn must have felt his eyes on him or something, because Zayn’s gaze moved momentarily from the screen to Louis, and then back again, his fingers halting the steady stream of typing.

 

“You alright?” Zayn asked, closing the lid of his laptop and leaving the room in near-complete darkness. Louis hadn’t realized how bright the green glow from the clock on the microwave across the room was and he could feel a headache starting up as the music that was humming in the background faded out, leaving a three second long stretch of silence that made Louis want to gauge out his inner ear to stop the god awful ringing. 

 

“I’m fine.” Louis replied, forcing his tone up at the end in a weak attempt at a lie. Actually, he wasn’t really sure if it qualified as a lie or not because that was what fine is for him now. Not actively dying and not actively shut in a hotel room alone wondering about how much force it would take to shatter his tenth story window and how the glass would look when it was streaked with blood on the tacky white and gold carpet. That was fine. 

 

The next song had started up and Louis knew that Zayn was still looking at him even though he pulled his hood up in an attempt to block the light from the microwave in his periphery. He didn’t know why he did this to Zayn. He didn’t want to bother him.

 

Louis wasn’t looking, but he could feel the couch shift by his feet and he could hear the leather squeak and he knew that Zayn had gotten up. He tracked his heavy steps to the kitchen and was only vaguely aware of the momentary sound of the refrigerator door opening and closing, his eyes closed and focused on the pulsing bass coming from the speaker on the wall over his head.

 

“Budge up,” He’d heard Zayn say a few moments later from where he now stood just a foot away from Louis’ head. Louis didn’t have the energy to tell Zayn to go sit back where he was before, so he sat up and inched forward, leaving Zayn a space between his body and the couch. When Zayn settled into the leather again, he placed a hand on Louis’s shoulder and gently eased him back so his head rested in Zayn’s lap. 

 

“I’m gonna put this on your forehead, okay?” Zayn asked, knowing that he wouldn’t get a response from Louis in this state, but he paused for a moment anyway before placing the cold compress in his hand— a few cubes of ice in a folded-over cloth that one of them had accidentally walked out with at the last hotel —to Louis’ forehead. His other hand went to where Louis’ arms were loosely folded over his stomach and curled gently around Louis’ forearm, his thumb rubbing circles into the material of his hoodie.

 

Louis’ eyes were still squeezed shut and he was biting hard on the inside of his mouth to keep from crying, partially guilty that he had to worry Zayn like this, but mostly mortified because he was an adult and he was supposed to have his shit together, not being coddled by his best friend like this. He needed to get out and do things and just prove to himself that he could function normally. The other four could do it… Why couldn’t he? What was different with him? Even though he knew that it wasn’t at all effortless for them, it felt like it at times, with the way that they could just fall asleep on command and smile politely for every irritating manager or ill-informed interviewer. He didn’t understand why it was so much harder for him. He had everything that the others had and it apparently still wasn’t enough. He had people who cared enough about him to go out of their way to help and he wouldn’t accept it. Maybe he deserved this.

 

Louis cracked open a teary eye to glance up at Zayn and he was met with the other boy staring back down at him, obvious worry etched across his features. Louis hated this. He hated it and he didn’t know how to make it stop. Louis felt a tear escape the corner of his eye and he hoped that Zayn couldn’t make it out in the low light, but he was sure that Zayn could feel him thrumming, trembling with the force that it took him to not scream or cry or pick up the nearest feasible object and send it flying down the hallway. He felt so weak and destroyed. 

 

Louis didn’t want to breathe because he could feel a sob bobbing at the top of his throat and he knew that his next shaky breath would do him in. He didn’t want to cry in front of Zayn because he was fine and he didn’t need Zayn to worry about him. He was fine. 

 

His lungs were on fire and he was sure he that Zayn could see his cheeks burning red and at the last possible moment he could stand it, he sucked in a breath and curled into Zayn’s stomach, his body convulsing with a sob that resulted from the force of all of the tension in his chest. His body didn’t know whether or breathe or to cry and it was awful and ugly and he didn’t understand how Zayn was still holding him, running his fingers through his hair and murmuring things that Louis couldn’t hear past the sound of his pulse in his ears. 

 

Louis had no idea how long it went on. The sobs and the tears just kept coming in waves and every time Louis would gain control and feel his stomach settle, he would become hyperaware of the stains his tears bled into his best friend’s shirt and the feeling of Zayn’s fingers gently raking over his scalp and the tears would start over again. Zayn would just continue thumbing over his bicep and pushing his hair back from his face, not really saying much of anything anymore because he knew that Louis just needed to let it out.

 

Eventually, though, Louis’ sobs faded into shaky breaths and he eventually settled, the rise and fall of his chest evening out into a pattern that led Zayn to believe that Louis had cried himself to sleep. He hadn’t, though. He’d cried himself into this weird headspace where everything seemed far away, even the tear-soaked shirt that he was pressing his face into and the fingers that danced through his hair. 

“You’ll be okay, Louis,” He heard Zayn distantly say against the music that was coming from the speakers above them, and Louis hoped that he was right.


End file.
